Nicadaemus (Breaking the Chains Ch. 2)

I awake and I feel Séna's head nestled in the crook of my arm. Her soft, raven hair smells like jasmine, and her smooth skin is silk on my flesh. She moans softly in her sleep, and her little hand slides across my chest, causing me to shiver a bit with memories of the passion we shared before sleep finally claimed us.

Suddenly I realize we are not alone. Deep within the catacombs of Londonium, a territory that only fools would travel into...fools and rebels...the Radz. Glancing to my right, I see my sword a good two arm lengths away, and despite the comfort of Séna so close, she is naught but a handicap in this precarious circumstance.

"You won't need your sword my friend," comes a jovial voice from where a small fire we built earlier gutters in the remains of an old metal barrel.

It takes a moment for my eyes to focus and shake off the veils of sleep. Then, as they adjust to the flickering light, I see him sitting there. Dressed in simple leather breaches and a billowing white shirt. The shirt has lace around the cuffs and collar, and it is unbuttoned mid-way down, revealing a pale and hairless chest. A mane of red hair frames an aristocratic looking face, and his sharply pointed ears proclaim him a full blood elf. When his emerald eyes look at me, they are piercing and intense.

"You are Donovan," he states plainly, a mischievous smile playing across his lips, lips that seem used to smiling. And his face. Vaguely familiar, but I cannot place it.

"Aye," comes hoarsely from my lips. I feel Séna stirring to consciousness beside me, her fingers sliding through the hair upon my chest.

"Séna speaks highly of you. But you are still new," he says casually, reaching down beside him to pick up a cigarette, gingerly placing it between his lips and leaning over the fire to light it, apparently oblivious to the danger of such an act. One tiny finger of flame leaps up to perfectly ignite the cigarette, an unnatural act, and I begin to realize it is magic. A minor trick that speaks of more potent powers, as not one word or gesture was used to control the flame.

"I have much to learn..."

He laughs, the sound echoing loudly in the old hallway, looking at me again, his eyes glittering with something akin to madness, "Indeed knight, indeed you speak the truth."

I feel Séna kiss the side of my neck softly, her lips raising gooseflesh on my skin. Then, she slides fluidly from beneath the wool blanket that covers us, revealing her nakedness, the milky white of her flesh, the flowing mass of raven hair, her small upturned breasts and narrow hips. She glances at me with a wickedly playful look in her deep brown eyes. Then, like a leopard stalking it's prey, she slowly makes her way on hands and knees to the stranger.

He takes a deep drag from his cigarette as he watches her crawl towards him, then leans his head back, puffing out a perfect smoke ring that floats towards the dingy ceiling above. I watch, confused, yet unsure what to say, what to think. When she reaches him, still catlike in her mannerisms, she runs the side of her cheek up the length of his leg, her head turning to face me, wisps of her dark hair obscuring her eyes, her lips parted slightly.

"You no longer live in the world you know knight," he says quietly, his free hand reaching down to trace the expanse of bare flesh between Séna's shoulders. Her face turns from me as she reaches his waist, and I see her hands working at the clasp of his breeches.

I try to summon a protest to my lips. I witness behavior that becomes only a slut transpiring before me, but instead of being filled with disgust, I find myself growing hard, and breathing fast as I watch.

For a moment I see his dick as she frees it from his pants, but then her head descends, and her thick hair conceals her taking it into her mouth. But I see the motion, and I know she lets him slide deep into her throat. She begins a slow rhythms, her head bobbing, and I hear the sounds of her lips and tongue on him, and a soft purr.

Again, he lazily takes a drag from his cigarette, leaning his head back, his red hair cascading further down his shoulders, closing his eyes. When he speaks, it is in a dreamy tone, distracted by the pleasure Séna brings him.

"This is not the Queen's land knight. This is not her army. You will see things and hear things you never imagined possible. This is not the land of law and order. This is the land of chaos, a place of change, a world of freedom." He pauses a moment, his eyes peering towards me half lidded. His free hand slides over the top of Séna's head, and he wraps his fingers in her long hair.

I am hard, hard as a shaft of iron under the covers, and still speechless. I want her to stop, I want to scream for an end to this madness...yet, I want her to continue, I want to see more.

"This is the land of dreams Donovan. It is a world of magic. For that is the essence of magic...dreams. Magic is free and unpredictable." Once again he throws his long hair back, inhaling deeply from his cigarette, a slight groan punctuating his statement. I see his hand wrap around her hair tightly as her rhythm quickens, and she moans louder in return.

His eyes stay closed, his head back, and his words come slower, more quietly. Barely audible over the crackling of the fire before him, but at the same time, overcoming all sounds present. "That is what the Queen seeks by destroying magic...if she destroys....magic....she destroys the dreams...of her subjects...and if they cannot dream...then they are merely slaves...no matter what freedom she promises..."

He hisses in sharply, his knuckles white in her hair now. Séna groans deeply herself as I see his hips thrust in unison with her movements. "Without dreams... there is no freedom. Without dreams...there is no magic. And that is what we fight for Donovan....for our dreams..."

His back arches and he growls low in his throat, his head pitched back as far as possible. I can hear Séna sucking as he cums in her mouth, and I feel as though I will cum as well. I ache for her now, more than ever before. I feel some shame for watching as I have, yet, I feel a desire raging through me that is unlike anything I have ever experienced.

She raises her head and looks at me, licking her lips as he gently strokes her hair. She glances up at him once more, and then, begins to crawl catlike back towards me. The wool of the blanket brushing on my erection heightens my need, and now it is him watching me. His smile returns as he smokes his cigarette, observing Séna crawling back towards me.

It seems everything moves slow, and I want to leap from the covers and take her, not caring whether he watches or not. My breathing is heavy, and every nerve in my body is on fire. Her moves are perfection, each one part of a grand dance of seduction that defies explanation. With every inch she draws nearer, I burn with greater desire for her.

And finally she is beside me, her lips almost brushing mine as her dark eyes, heavy with passion, lock onto mine. When she speaks I can smell his cum on her breath, "Did you miss me love?"

"Yes," I whisper, feeling his eyes on me, but not caring.

She stays there, her face so close to mine, I can barely focus on it, her brown eyes pools beckoning me to drown in them. Then her hand slides under the blanket, soft and warm wrapping around me. "Yes..." she whispers.

She begins stroking me, fiercely, quickly, and my body shudders. Up and down, her hand caresses my dick, her grip tight, and I feel the pressure building up quicker than ever before. Her eyes still stare into mine, and I can barely focus now. Time seems inconsequential...minutes, seconds have no meaning. And then, I am cumming, spilling myself under the blanket, over her hand. I groan loudly, not caring now if the whole of the Radz hear me.

I fall back onto our pallet, my body tingling with the orgasm as I feel her lips brush my chest softly, " I love you my knight."

When I look up at her, she has a devilish grin on her face, and raises her fingers to lick the cum off of them.

And I see the stranger standing behind her, looking down at me. He chuckles slightly. "You will do well Donovan...you will do well."

He walks away, flicking his cigarette butt into the barrel. It flares a moment with colorful pyrotechnics, more of his magic. "It's been a pleasure meeting you knight. I am Nicadaemus."

For a moment, I find I can't breathe. Nicadaemus. The leader of the Radz. The greatest enemy of Brytannia. Never had I seen him out of his strange makeup before. Perhaps that is why he looked familiar, but still, something else seems to be there as well.

Then Séna is kissing my chest again, and I forget such distracting thoughts. "Are you hungry love?" she asks, and I smile warmly in return, unsure of what to think of my new home, but knowing that I love Séna more than anything else in my life.

( 2 ) The Spar

When I was a knight, training was a daily practice. "There is no substitution for preparedness," my old mentor Owain would say. He always painted a portrait of the Radz as undisciplined, poorly trained commoners whose only advantage was having a few powerful magicians on their side.

However, I have learned otherwise since I joined their ranks. Although, the training is not as organized as that of the Order of Divine Retribution, it is just as integral a part of their organization as it was that of my former knighthood.

I sit with Séna at my side, watching one of the many spars that occur daily. The warriors gather together to talk and battle each other. No particular order exists, just finally a pair has enough with boasting and a challenge is issued. Their fighting tactics are oft as unconventional as their training methods.

With smaller numbers than the army of Brytannia, they have learned many ingenious means of overcoming the odds. Means that are often frustrating to a knight raised on the ideals of chivalry and organized warfare. The Radz are anything but those two things.

Séna is snuggled beside me, gently nuzzling my ear as I watch a fighter yield to his opponent. I sense other eyes upon me, and glancing across the large chamber, I see a woman sitting on the floor, leaned back on the wall. Her knees are tucked to her chest. She is muscular, dark skinned, and her blonde hair is closely cropped. It is her ice blue eyes that stare at me, and I wonder what she is thinking.

A round of applause fills the room as the two combatants make their way to a keg of ale to draw themselves a draught, and the girl rises, walking to the center of the room, picking up one of the dulled practice blades. In the army of Brytannia, no women bear arms. However, like many other things, the rules are different in the ranks of the Radz.

"Her name is Morganna," Séna whispers in my ear as she sees me watching the girl. Morganna. She has full breasts and moves with the grace of a dancer, wearing a simple leather tunic and short breeches with tall, laced soft leather boots. I wonder who she will challenge just as her blade points in my direction.

"I challenge you ... knight." Séna's giggle tickles my ear. The room falls silent and I am not sure what to say. I have never battled a woman in my life, and have been trained only to protect them by the code of honor I served.

"The knight is afraid to face a woman!" somebody guffaws, and the chamber roars with laughter. Séna's lips brush my ear, "Do not let them bother you. But do not underestimate Morganna either."

I nod and stand, accepting the challenge with a nod as various cat-calls echo about the room. Morganna's face betrays no feelings, it is cold and emotionless as I retrieve the other training blade. I bow slightly to her and then assume a position of en guarde.

Her first attack surprises me. What she lacks in strength she accommodates with a blinding speed. As I step back making a quick parry, I find her readying yet another attack. My riposte buys me a moment of time to think and I decide then that holding any quarter against this foe is nothing but foolhardy.

Her skill is superb, and as we dance about the room to the music of our swords striking one another, the crowd grows silent. One fearsome blow strikes sparks along the length of our blades and we both step back, regarding one another. Her breasts rise and fall quickly to her excited breathing, and for a moment, she seems about to say something, then, her blade is thrusting at me again.

She is a swashbuckler with the grace of an acrobat. I can smell her sweat and hear her hard breathing as we battle, punctuated by small grunts as she swings and thrusts and parries relentlessly.

I suffer a moment's distraction, seeing from the corner of my eye a shock of red hair. Nicadaemus watches from the shadows. His face is the way I have seen it on so many bounty posters across Brytannia: painted with a base of white make up with red details around his eyes and lips, like some mad jester. His hair is pulled tightly into a pony tail, and a cigarette dangles from his mouth.

The distraction is the opening Morganna had been looking for and she drives hard into the offense against me. I find myself unbalanced, faltering back, barely able to keep my sword raised in defense against her fury. And then my back is to the wall and just in time I raise my sword to block hers. Her body is pressed to mine, our faces only inches apart, our blades crossed in front of them. I can feel her hot breath on me and my heart races. For a moment it seems I can feel hers pounding as well. Her teeth are gritted, and her eyes search mine, daring me to escape, challenging me to yield to her.

Over her shoulder I see Nicadaemus in the distance, blowing a smoke ring to the ceiling as he watches lackadaisically. The crowd has already begun to chuckle as they know the knight is defeated. I have held back, for she is a woman and I am a man.

When she speaks, her voice is husky and low "Yield."

I find myself torn between the training I have had. Defend women. Never yield.

I use my strength and overpower the locked blades, the hilt of my sword smashing into her jaw, driving her to the floor hard, stunning her. I plant my boot between her breasts and the dulled edge of my sword to her throat. Her eyes are wide with surprise, "Nay, you shall yield to me."

She answers with a nod, letting her sword fall from her grasp. Silence fills the room again as all eyes fall on us, and it is Nicadaemus who claps first, "Well done knight!"

The others join in, and laughter spreads around the room, followed by more mirth and cheer. I offer my hand to Morganna and she takes it. I pull her up and she faces me again, wiping blood from her lip with the back of her hand.

"Thank you for sparring with me," she says, still a little breathless. She offers me a slight smile, and then turns on her heel and quickly departs. Her gait is more that of a man, yet I find her all the more intriguing because of it. Few men would I have called my match in a duel, yet Morganna had almost defeated me.

Séna's arms slide around my waist from behind and she presses her head to my back, "Well done my love."

I turn and embrace her, stroking her hair gently with my hand, "Aye. But nearly a defeat. She is a good fighter."

She presses her hand to my crotch, and suddenly, I become aware of the erection there. Her large, brown eyes look up into mine, the familiar glint of wickedness filling them. "You want her don't you? You wonder if she is as good in bed as she is on the sparring court?"

I start to protest, but then, I am not sure what to say. She stands on her tiptoes to softly kiss my lips, and then our reverie is broken by the voice of Nicadaemus.

"The games are over my friends. At daybreak we strike, and the Queen shall feel our wrath!"

As a cry is raised in the room, I glance over my shoulder and see the madness burning in the elf's eyes again. I know his plan is insanity, but I feel myself compelled to follow him. I am not worried for myself, but for Séna. I still lack the enthusiasm and faith she possesses for the cause, but in her I find inspiration. I only hope we live to share another evening in each others arms.

( 3 ) And Then There Were Three

Sleep comes fitfully that night. No matter how much one tries, or how often he has faced the spectre of battle before, it is never easy to be prepared for it. In the past, I only had myself to worry with, and my friends. But like me, they were all knights, trained and hardened in the horrors of war. I never truly had anything to lose. Yet now, with Séna, I do.

It never mattered before if I were to die. I would die with the glory of serving my Queen and country. Death is not such an easy choice now. So many things I wish to do with this woman I have come to love so deeply.

I awaken from a half sleep at a whisper of footsteps in the room. Séna is no longer beside me, but the light from our fire casts shadows across the figure that has intruded. At first, I think it a man, and this time, I find my sword is well within reach. But then I hear Séna's voice from behind the figure.

"You won't need that weapon my knight, unless you would rather spar again."

As the first figure approaches, I see the blonde hair, and then the light reflects on her face. It is Morganna, and she is garbed only in a blanket. Her bare feet whisper on the floor as she approaches. She glances over her shoulder a bit uncertainly, towards where Séna must be.

For a moment I think I must be dreaming again, and then Morganna stops at my feet, dropping the blanket, a look of resolve in her ice blue eyes. Her body is deeply tanned, and numerous scars criss cross her flesh. Her arms and legs are well muscled, and a thatch of light blond hair grows between her legs. She is so different from my Séna and I find myself mesmerized by her presence.

Her foot kicks my blanket away, exposing my nakedness and the rock hard erection beneath. She straddles me, and lowers herself to sit on my chest, and I can feel the warmth of her pussy against me. She places her face close to mine, her lips almost brushing my own, and her husky voice whispers, a quaver in it, "Sir Donovan?"

I raise an eyebrow, realizing too late that her eyes have hypnotized me, their cool shade of blue freezing me in their gaze. In that time, her hand has sought my sword and suddenly I find it's very real and sharp blade to my throat. My heart leaps and I stiffen at the razor sharp touch against my skin.

"Will you yield to me knight?" she asks lowly, her lips twisted in a wry grin.

"Aye," I rasp, feeling myself grow harder.

She puts the sword to the side, and strokes my face with her hand. It is a hand hard with calluses from many fights. Her other hand reaches back and wraps around my hardness, and she raises her hips. Her cool blue eyes are on me again as she guides my dick inside of her, and she hisses sharply, arching her back as I fill her. She is wet and warm, looser around me than Séna, and pleasurable in completely different way. So much the opposite of my pretty little witch, and that much more exciting because of it.

I have sworn myself to Séna, given my oath to her, as well as my love. Yet now, another woman impales herself on my dick, and I find my hands reaching up to caress her large breasts, the nipples hard and erect. Lost in this new world where all I have learned before becomes lies.

Then Séna is beside her, naked, the shadows from the flickering light dancing on her milky white flesh. I see their faces drift to one another, and just before their lips part, their tongues dart out to meet. Sénas hands wrap around Morganna's head, her fingers playing in the woman's short hair. I reach one hand over to caress one of Séna's small breasts, and Morganna rides me harder, Séna purring softly.